


If I Could Give You my Heart

by Afraea



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, Dead Jack Frost (Guardians of Childhood), Fluff, Grim Reapers, Kinda, M/M, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Protective E. Aster Bunnymund, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-07 22:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11067984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afraea/pseuds/Afraea
Summary: There was silence in his chest. The blood was stagnant in his veins; it may as well have been frozen for all he knew. Jack had always been this way. Well, for as long as he's been a spirit anyways.Jack Frost has lived a half-life since he was raised from the lake where he died. He doesn't eat. He doesn't sleep. He doesn't even need to breathe. The winter spirit has never known anything different. Even his memories hadn't been able to remind him of what being alive really felt like. When Jack stumbles upon the hidden remnants of the Guardian of Stories, he finds that the answers to the question of his existence may be answered by learning the story of Nightlight: the First Guardian. Could Nightlight's story help him live again? Could he really feel the thrum of life in his veins, a heart beat? Jack is determined to find out.Much to Jack's surprise, so is a certain alien rabbit. Can Bunnymund help Jack live again, or will fate decide to take things into its own hands?





	1. Death's Companion

Jack surveyed his handiwork. The tiny room was a mess. When North later asked the elves what had happened in the break room, they would swear up and down that they had been accosted by a grim reaper that emanated the “chill of death.” Said “grim reaper” was in actuality a winter spirit currently chuckling quietly to himself in the rafters. His little prank had gone a tad bit awry, but the results were gratifying none-the-less. Small furniture was strewn all over the room, along with various bits of elf-built “toys.” One particular elf had gotten himself caught on the chandelier and was currently hanging upside down about 20 feet from the floor. How the little guy had gotten himself up there was a mystery to Jack, but he made sure to place something soft underneath him before he silently excused himself from the crime scene.

 After all, Jack didn’t want anyone to get hurt. He just wanted them to think before they speak, and a scene like that should definitely make sure those elves think twice before making light of grim reapers from now on. He doubts he’ll catch them mouthing off anytime soon at least, and if they do he’d be back to give them a refresher lesson. The reapers deserved respect, and he’d make sure they got it if he had to prank every elf in the North Pole. The reapers were neutral to a fault, but they had always been nice to him, even when the entire spirit world thought he was nothing but a nuisance.

They had always thought of him as a curiosity at the least, or maybe some thought of him as a pet project.  After all, he was for all intents and purposes dead. Sure, there are lots of spirits who are dead but none like Jack. He didn’t rot like zombies or need the life energy of others like most dead spirits, and yet he had no pulse and felt very little pain. He felt very little of anything, to be frank. One time Jack had gotten in a scrap with a wendigo and hadn’t noticed he had gotten a claw firmly embedded in his back. At least, not until Bunnymund had had a fit about it.

Luckily for him, Bunnymund had gone full medic mode and Jack easily played off his lack of pain as extreme shock. It was a good thing Bunnymund blamed the significantly smaller amount of blood than what was normal for wounds like that on him being “so bloody cold.”

Jack would be lying if he said he didn’t hate the fact that he couldn’t really feel Bunnymund’s paw-like hands as they worked on his back. He wondered if they were soft. What would the rough pads of his finger feel like sweeping across his back? Probably nice, like really nice. Warm, and soft with rough pads, and definitely not what he should be thinking about while having his skin put back together. Even if he could feel, it wasn’t like Bunnymund was ever going to touch him like this unless he was injured, and Jack did _not_ want to feel that.

He settled for listening to Bunnymund as he talked himself through stitching up the gaping hole in his back. Every time Bunnymund came across something weird, Jack thought, well how in the hell am I going to explain this? But Bunnymund would always say something that sounded vaguely medical then move on. It saved Jack from the awkward discussion that would be with the 7-foot alien rabbit who literally embodied life itself. How do you get around to telling people you care about—that are very much alive—that you’re dead? Or almost dead. Dead-ish? Whatever.

Jack didn’t really understand his state of existence, but it meant that reapers would often find him over the years. Some only to watch, others to ask him questions about his state of “half-life.” Jack didn’t need to eat or sleep. Hell, he didn’t even need to breathe. But despite all that one reaper had told him several times that, even without a heartbeat he was very much alive. Over the years, they insisted that Jack was not dead. That reaper visited so often Jack had taken to calling them Selma in his head, which he deemed better than “that one reaper.”

Out of all the reapers that spent time with Jack, Selma visited the most often. They would ask him about his explorations of the world, and about the kids he would play with. Aside from the wind, Selma was his closest companion through his life as a spirit. Jack had always figured it had to do with his… condition. It wasn’t until after the fight with Pitch that he found out the real reason Selma always looked out for him.

He had been sitting with his grim companion, regaling them with the story of how he became a guardian. They were the first spirit he told about his memories, about his sister, and about his death. When Jack explained how he saved his sister from thin ice Selma had looked at him from beneath their hood, and although Jack could not see their face he felt as if they were smiling. Then Selma told him a story he would never forget, the story of how he died.

\----------------------

“We watched you dancing on the ice with your sister, and knew what would come.” Selma turned towards Jack’s lake, and even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky no light illuminated the darkness under their hood, “but we thought we came that day for your sister.”

“You wh-,” Jack’s startled response was cut off by the reapers raised hand. He bit his lip to keep from interrupting again. He had learned the hard way that one didn’t interrupt a grim reaper.

“It is said to happen, upon occasion, that a soul destined to be carried to the beyond escapes its fate and continues on in the plain of the living,” Selma paused before continuing, “I did not believe such tales before the day you died.

“You see Jack, fate never planned for you to save your sister, but your desire to protect her was stronger than anything the fate could divine. We watched as you swung her to safety, and as the ice that was to be her tomb claimed you instead.” Selma looked at him, and Jack could feel an unfathomable emotion from them as they spoke again, “We had never experienced such a thing, and neither has any reaper in my existence. You and your sister could not see the strings of fate that were twinning around the lake that day, but we did. We saw as the black threads snapped at your sister’s ankles, and we saw as you broke them with one determined swing of your staff. It was impossible, unheard of, and magnificent. It was the first time in my long life that I was surprised.” Frost curled around and around Jack’s staff while Selma spoke, belaying the winter spirit’s rising unease.

“When she was out of reach, those threads latched onto you, Jack, and pulled you under the ice. We came forward to collect your soul from your body and all we could think of was the sacrifice you made, and the unparalleled strength of will it would take to break fate’s threads. We could think of no greater honor than accompanying a soul of that caliber to the beyond.”

Jack felt a lump forming at the back of his throat, as his chest constricted with emotion. The admiration in Selma’s voice was clear, and it cut through Jack like a knife. What was this feeling? He could feel the sting behind his eyes that precedes tears, but he couldn’t tell if he was sad. The reapers protected all souls as they journeyed to the beyond. They are un-biased creatures who carry even the vilest criminals and the purest saints without discrimination. Reapers weren’t supposed to admirer their charges. Jack wasn’t supposed to be admired by someone like Selma. He did what anyone would have, what any _brother_ would have.

Jack would have said as much if he could speak though the chaos of his emotions, but his eyes were watery and he was afraid that if he spoke the tears gathering there might fall and freeze to his cheeks. The winter spirit pulled his sleeves over his hands and wiped at his face self-consciously. He didn’t know how to feel about all this. How was someone supposed to feel when they find out they died by cosmic accident? That they literally traded their life for their sister’s, and impressed the ferryperson of death who was meant to carry their sister’s soul to the afterlife? Jack hoped confusion was on the list of acceptable feelings because that was the only emotion he could tack down right now.

Selma placed a hand lightly on Jack’s shoulder pulling him out of his thoughts, “However it wasn’t meant to be. We could not take you to the beyond because you were not yet destined for the beyond; it was not your time. You were a soul without destination, and we could not help you. You were to be a spirit without a vessel, with no voice and no form, unable to be seen or heard even by other spirits. Tis the fate of those who die before their time.”

The reaper's words made Jack shudder. Having humans walk through him was agony enough, but spirits? Jack imagined what it would be like to have the other guardians walk through him. To have Bunnymund walk through him. He shut down those thoughts before they could fully form. He didn’t need to go down that road. What Selma described sounded far worse than the half-life Jack had been living. “So, what changed? Why am I like this, and not some weird pseudo-ghost?”

“Tsar Lunanoff.”

“Manny?” Jack asked. He supposed it made sense. Manny was the first thing he saw after he came back, and the first spirit to talk to him, “What did Manny do?”

“He asked us if we would be willing to release your soul to him as we had no obligation to carry you. We informed him that we also had no obligation to release you to him.” Selma said in a wry voice.

Jack smiled despite himself and chuckled quietly. Yesterday he hadn’t even thought that a reaper might have been present the day he died, and now he couldn’t be gladder it was Selma. Out of all the reapers in the world, he got the sassy one. He guessed fate wasn’t all bad. “And how did Mr. Moon respond to that?”

“He told us why he wanted your soul,” Selma said causing Jack’s smile to fade, “He said he wanted to save you, that anyone willing to sacrifice themselves for a child deserved better than what was in store for you. He said he could bring you back.”

Jack felt the lump return to his throat, and frost pooled out from under where he sat, staring out at his lake. A bitter anger crept over him. So, Manny thought he deserved better, but then left him to rot for 300 years? Yeah, right. If Manny had a reason for bringing him back, it was so he would have another player in his chess game against Pitch. A crack sounded and Jack realized ice was forming on his staff and on the ground beneath him. He let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He willed the ice to melt and hopped up on the crook of his staff before asking, “So what did Manny do to me?”

“We are uncertain. The process involved bathing your body in moonlight, while we held your soul. When Tsar Lunanoff finished his spell, he told us that if we so chose we could give you back a fraction of the life that you gave away by returning your soul to the body he had changed.”

\------------

Selma had said nothing more, and they didn’t have to. Jack could figure out the rest for himself. To think, his closest companion for most of his existence was the sole reason he existed in this world at all. If Selma hadn’t listened to Manny then, then… Jack didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about what it would be like to not exist—even to spirits. Not being able to talk to North or the Yetis, or collect teeth with Tooth and her fairies. Without Selma, he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep watching Sandy bring dreams to children, or play with Jamie and his other believers. He wouldn’t be able to irritate Bunnymund.

Bunnymund. He wouldn’t be able to frost the egg sentinels and give Bunnymund a heart attack, or leave stink bombs in old empty caverns of the warren for Bunnymund to find and chase him down for. He wouldn’t be able to help paint eggs for Easter, or hear Bunnymund happily grind his teeth when one of the kids found the egg he made specially for them. He’d have never seen the way Bunnymund smiles when the old Pooka made a new recipe of chocolate and couldn’t wait for him to taste it. Bunnymund wouldn’t even know he existed.

He may have thrown himself at Selma and hugged them to death in a fit of overflowing gratitude after he processed how much he had to thank them for. They had patted him on the back awkwardly before disappearing with the excuse that there was work to be done. Jack surmised that reapers, or at the very least Selma, didn’t take well to touch after that.

Jack shook himself out of his thoughts when he realized he had no idea where he was. At some point while reminiscing he’d managed to work his way into the winding back halls of North’s workshop. Phil had told him stories of elves that had been lost back here for days, and had to survive on old fruitcakes. Jack shuddered. Taste was not one of the things he lost when Manny moon-beamed him back to life, and tasting North’s fruitcake almost made him wish it was.

“Hey, Wind,” a cool breeze rustled Jacks hair and whipped around him causing him to chuckle, “Yes, you’re very cute. Now, can you get me out of here, or are you lost too?”

Wind blew Jack’s hood over his head in a huff, then tore off down the hall. The winter spirit went to chase after her, only to have her come back a couple seconds later and zip away in a new direction. This happened a couple times before Jack signed and started walking the way he came.

“You know, for a North Wind you really have a horrible sense of direction.” His remark was met with a strong gust that knocked him off his feet. The winter spirit laughed when he hit the floor, and Wind swirled agitatedly above him, “Hey, I never said that was a bad thing! All the best adventures happen when you’re lost.”

The air settled around him. Now that Wind seemed appeased, he floated to his feet under his own power and continued down the hall. He must have been really out of it when he came down here, because nothing looked familiar. The hall was completely empty, excluding a few stray tree ornaments on the floor. There were no doors or windows along the walls which was at odds with North’s taste for design. In any other part of the Workshop you couldn’t go six feet without running into a window. Everything looked so uniform he almost missed a branching hallway, having passed it by before recognizing it was there.

The winter sprite took a few steps back to look down the turn. It was a short hall that ended in a door. Although Jack thought ‘door’ might be the wrong word. It was huge! Along every edge of it was extravagant gold moulding similar to the embellishments on every fireplace at the Pole. At the top was a plaque that had long since faded and could no longer be read. The door handle was gold like the moulding and carved with designs that reminded Jack of North’s tattoos. It was well worn too like it had been opened and closed regularly for decades, centuries even.

Jack moved to open the door, then stopped. Everything about this door screamed ‘private.’ He really shouldn’t go in. It could be North’s secret naughty dungeon or something, and he really did _not_ need to see that. The young guardian turned to leave and even got three steps away before his curiosity got the better of him.

He turned, grabbed the door handled and pushed against it before he could change his mind. The door resisted as if it hadn’t been open in a long time. His curiosity peaked even higher, Jack pushed on. When the door finally opened enough, the winter sprite wiggled through the same opening. The room was dark. As Jacks eyes adjusted to the low light he started to make out towers of various heights scattered across the floor. He walked up to the nearest of these towers and carefully trailed a hand up the side. His fingers met with paper, then something hard. _Books?_ Jack funnelled energy into his staff until it began to glow steadily, then grabbed the first book he could reach.

“ _Seasonal Spirits and Associated Elemental Magics Vol. 2: Spring?_ ” Jack opened the book to the title page, “Written by Katherine St. North?” Who was Katherine? Was she related to North? Why did North never talk about her? Jack placed the book down and grabbed another. Again, written by Katherine St. North. Book after book, written by Katherine St. North. Books on seasonal magic, books on time magic, books on moonlight— _moonlight?_ Jack pulled the book in his hand closer to his staff. _Moonbeams and other Magical Spirits of Moonlight Vol. 1._ Jack took a deep breath and turn to the first page.

> Preface
> 
> The following is the first in a series of books documenting the magical properties and abilities of Lunar Moths, Tsar Lunanoff—also known as the Man in the Moon (MiM), and Nightlight. All of the aforementioned lunar entities gain their abilities directly from the light of the moon, heretofore known as Moonbeams. This volume sets the foundational understanding needed to understand the experiments outlined in future volumes.

Jack had been so lost reading that he did not hear footsteps approaching the door. Selma had said Manny had used moonlight to bring him back. If he could read all of these books, then maybe he could understand why he was the way he was. The preface mentioned experiments. Experiments with moonlight? What kind of experiments was this Katherine person doing with moonlight? Maybe—

The door slammed open behind him and Jack jumped so hard he floated into the air. North stood in the doorway silhouetted by the light of the workshop. Jack froze and felt for all the world as if he had been caught stealing a precious family heirloom. “North I-I—“

“Ack, I must fix this door! Been putting it off for too long,” North said as upbeat as ever, but Jack knew better than to relax. North had a habit of being the good cop and the bad cop.  The old Cossack fiddled with the door acting for all the world as if it was the only thing on his mind. When Jack didn’t relax or say anything, North sighed and turned back to the newest guardian. With a wave of his hand the room lit up, and Jack’s eyes grew wide at the sheer number of books that were around him.

“Jack, I think it’s time we had talk.”


	2. The First Guardian

North looked around the room. His face was clouded over in thought, and the twinkle that Jack had gotten used to seeing in the old Cossack’s eyes seemed to fade. In that moment, he didn’t look like Santa. He looked like an old man who’d lost too much, and Jack felt an overwhelming guilt at having put that expression there. The winter spirit was tempted to bolt if only so North didn’t have to keep thinking of whatever could make him look so sad. But North pulled out a chair that had been sheltered behind a tower of books and gestured for Jack to do the same.

The young Guardian hopped up on the chair North offered. Jack wasn’t a stranger to uncomfortable situations, having spent most of the last 300 years sleeping in trees and scaring wendigos and other unsavoury winter spirits away from population centers, but Jack couldn’t think of a single moment in his life where he was more ill as ease than he was now. It was obvious that he had stumbled across something that North had worked hard to forget. If Jack still had a pulse, he was sure it would be out of control.

“A long time ago, long before Manny brought you to us, there were other Guardians.” North paused seeming to gather his thoughts. He had pulled one of the books into his lap and he ran his scarred hands over the cover gently. The uneasiness that had washed over Jack intensified. There _were_ more Guardians? As in past tense? Every fiber of Jack was alight with the need to ask for clarification, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to push North, especially when he seemed so vulnerable.

“This room belonged to dear friend of mine. She was like sister to me.” The Cossack paused and looked around the room once more with heavy eyes, “Her name was Katherine.

“We were first Guardians from Earth. In beginning, Guardians were not tied to children as we are today. We were ordinary people. Well, mostly ordinary. We aged. We were mortal.” A sad smile pulled at North’s lips, “She stayed mortal.”

\--------------

Jack sat curled around _Moonbeams and Other Magical Spirits of Moonlight: Vol 1._ North had told him about the Golden Age, how Pitch came to be, and Mother Nature, about shooting stars, Santoff Clausen, and the Pookan race, but mostly about Katherine. The old Cossack had gone on dozens of tangents but they all led back to Katherine. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at the walls of what he now knew was Katherine’s Study. He looked around at all the books she had written and thought about what North had told him.

The books around him all had a common thread: how Katherine had tried to save Nightlight. After the first Guardian gave away his powers to save Katherine from Pitch’s Nightmare prison, he was essentially human. Even after Ombric and Manny made the Guardian’s oath into a magical binding and the Guardians became tied it to the magic of children’s belief, he remained mortal. Katherine had tried everything. Every magic the Guardians came across over the years, Seasonal Magic, Dark Magic, Time Magic, but no matter what she tried—or how hard she believed—nothing managed to change Nightlight back. She even tried to use the First Light, which resulted in Bunnymund not talking to her for over half a decade.

Here, all around Jack, was the accumulation of Katherine’s life work. She promised herself she would not take the binding Guardian’s oath until she ‘cured’ Nightlight’s mortality. Katherine couldn’t stand the thought of living without Nightlight. She looked for a way to change him back right up until she died at the ripe old age of 103. Nightlight only outlived her by 3 days.

Losing them both had left the Guardians broken for a long time. North had taken it the worst. The parts of the Workshop that were hers and Nightlight’s were mostly abandoned. He didn’t eat or sleep, and he stopped inventing. There were years where Christmas came and went without North having left the workshop. Years without Santa. During those times, Bunnymund had delivered the Christmas presents. Only North and Bunnymund knew about it, and North made Jack swear not to tell anyone else.

North had eventually reclaimed most of the workshop as he worked through his grief, but he never came back to Katherine’s study. No one had been in this room within the whole of Jack’s life, until today. When Jack had stumbled his way through an apology for disturbing the study, North had looked down at the book Jack was holding with an indecipherable gaze, and told him that Katherine wouldn’t have wanted her books to sit in the dark. She was too practical for that.

Then he had smiled his big jovial smile and loudly declared that Jack was welcome in Katherine’s study at all times. The old Cossack had left in a whirlwind, muttering about work orders and carrying a scheming glint in his eyes. The emotional whiplash and left Jack a little jarred.  

Now Jack sat alone. Staring at the walls of a room where someone had fought for the person they loved the only way they knew how. The winter spirit looked around at the sheer number of books that adorned the walls and covered the floors. The only way to navigate the room were makeshift aisles in the spaces between towers of books on the floor. Jack couldn’t even tell how big the room actually was. There were too many books in the way.

He looked down at the book still in his hand, and at the books all around him. If there was any place in the world that could tell him what he was, it was here. Jack pulled as many books as he could find that were labelled with a ‘vol. 1.’ Then he started reading. 

\----------------

And that’s where Bunnymund found him roughly three days later. The ancient Pooka had jarred the door open in a huff, ready to drag Jack kicking and screaming to the infirmary because the frosty larrikin had missed his yearly check-up. Again. The blighter had managed to weasel out of every check-up since he took the oath. Well, not this year! What he saw when he reached the study, however, stopped him in his tracks.

When North told him Jack was in Katherine’s study, he’d been surprised. No one had been in Katherine’s study since she passed. It’d been too painful. Bunnymund’s ears had pulled flat against his skull. His heart ached just thinking about that study and how empty it was without Katherine in it. He had looked to North in concern but didn’t know how to ask him if he was alright. The centuries he’d spent with the Guardians may have made him more human, but he had never really figured out how to talk about things like this. North had just rested a hand on his shoulder and the silence between them was filled with understanding.

On his way to the study, Bunnymund had assumed Jack was likely just looking for new material for his damned pranks. Katherine had been quite the prankster when the mood hit, after all, so he expected to find the snowy brat wrapped around _Katherine’s Compendium of Pranks_ cackling to himself.

Instead, he found Jack was sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by a circle of books, all open, and stacked 2-3 high. His white hair was pulled back and frozen in place, so his eyes were unimpeded by it. All around him were loose papers covered front and back in messy cursive. Frost was dusted over them, meaning Jack had likely written them himself, and the winter spirit was staring at the pages in front of him with such focus he hadn’t even reacted to Bunnymund’s entrance.

All of this, while severely at odds with Bunnymund’s mental image of Jack Frost, was not what gave the Pooka pause. Across the room, sitting roughly 20 feet away, was Jack’s staff. In the years he’s known Jack, Bunnymund had rarely seen the staff out of physical contact with the winter spirit and he’d definitely never seen it out of reaching distance from the bloke’s hand. Bunnymund was at a loss, which seems to keep happening more and more often since Jack joined the Guardians.

So he did what he always did when Jack’s behavior befuddled him, which is the same thing he did when caught himself staring at the indescribable blue of Jack’s eyes, or the pale, almost invisible freckles that dusted the winter spirit’s cheeks. He ignored it.

“Oi, Frostbite! You’re late. Again.”

Jack yelped and frantically began gathering the papers around him. The winter spirit did his best to block Bunnymund’s view of both the notes and the books around him.

“Bunny! Hi! Hi, Bunny. Hi,” Jack cringed at his own words, “what brings you up here?”

Bunnymund scowled at the winter spirit, even as he noticed Jack’s eyes frantically cast around for his staff, “Yer yearly check-up was suppos’d to start an hour ago, mate.”

The youngest guardian froze and looked up at the Pooka with wide eyes. The winter spirit shot a glance at his staff leaning against the far bookcase.

“Oh no! Not this year, Mate. Yer goin’ to yer checkup if I have ta drag ya there!” Bunnymund tensed and waited for Jack to make a run for it like he did every year. This time the winter spirit didn’t have the advantage of being outside. Which mean he wasn’t going to get away again.

Jack’s shoulders sagged in defeat. Then he slowly gathered his papers and stowed them in his hoodie pocket. “Yeah, yeah. Just,” Jack looked around the study, “Just let me clean up a bit. I don’t want to leave books all over the floor. That’s just asking for broken spines.”

Bunnymund scowled at the winter spirit, not buying for a second that this wasn’t part of some escape attempt, but he couldn’t leave with Katherine’s books all over the floor. “Alright, we’ll tidy, but then it’s straight on to the infirmary. Got it?”

“Yeah, Yeah. I got it.”

Bunnymund watched Jack as they tidied the study. He subtly moved closer to his staff with every book he put away. He supposed he didn’t blame him. If the Pooka’s magic was heavily dependent on a staff he wouldn’t be too keen on being away from it either.

Bunnymund continued to watch Jack—purely because he was afraid he might bolt. No ulterior motive necessary. The way Jack almost glowed in the low light of the study was just a bonus. _Damnit! Get yer head on straight, Bunnymund! Blokes like Jack have no shortage of admirers. He doesn’t need a crotchety old rabbit like you makin’ eyes at him._

Bunnymund had long since given up hiding from the fact that he found Jack attractive. After all, there was only so many times he could realize Jack had been the subject of his sketches for the several hours before he got a clue, but damn if Jack wasn’t a beaut. And his laugh, he could get lost in that laugh.

The Pooka shook himself out of his thoughts and looked to the books Jack had been reading desperate for a distraction. Several books in Jack’s reading pile were on high-level magical theory, in several different fields. There were even a few on spring magic that Bunnymund remembered helping Katherine write. What would Jack need to know advanced magical theory for?

“Hell of a reading list ya got here Frostbite,” Bunnymund said in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone, “Never would have pegged ya for a scholar.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” the winter spirit replied distractedly, “Spent a lot of time in libraries over the years. Books can’t walk through you.” Bunnymund winced, his ears falling back against his head. But Jack just smiled at him softly, “Don’t worry about it, Cottontail. What’s that thing you’re always saying? She’s apples?”

Bunnymund chuckled despite himself, “Careful mate, or I might make an Aussie out’a ya yet.” 

Jack laughed, and his whole body moved with it. Bunnymund couldn’t breathe for a moment. This is what Jack was. Joy, unbridled and free. It was something that Bunnymund could never capture on paper, something about the nature of Jack’s center too fluid for the stillness of Bunnymund’s sketches. Whatever the reason the newest Guardian had been knee deep in enough magical knowledge to reshape the world, Bunnymund was sure it couldn’t be too bad.

When the winter spirit caught his breath, he grabbed the last book from Bunnymund’s hands and placed it on the nearest tower. His staff was back at his side, and he was smiling up at the Pooka mischievously.

“Wot?”

“I was just wondering if this is the part where we play doctor,” the brat said as he suggestively wiggled his eyebrows. Bunnymund felt his nose and the tips of his ears go red. He wasn’t quite so out of the loop with humanity that he didn’t know what the larrikin was angling at. He silently thank every deity he could think of that it was too dim in the study for his blush to show through the fur on his nose.

“Oh, rack off you bastard!” Bunnymund snapped to cover up his embarrassment, and it earned him another laugh from the young guardian. When the Pooka went to bop the arse upside the head, he jumped out of the way and his amused laughter continued. Bunnymund caught Jack’s eye and saw a familiar glint shining back at him from the pale blue orbs. “Don’t you even think about—“

“Catch me if you can!” The Pooka’s protest was cut off by Jack’s taunt. A violent wind ripped past Bunnymund and carried Jack away in a blur of white and blue. Bunnymund sprung after him, but Jack was already out the door and down the hall.

“OI! GET BACK HERE FROSTBITE!”

The Pooka tore after the winter spirit, rebounding off the walls to make up for lost time. He knew if he lost sight of the bugger, he wouldn't be able to catch him. Bunnymund prided himself on his tracking abilities. But if he was honest with himself, he couldn’t track Jack worth a damn. All winter spirits were difficult to track. Most of them could fly, and their lower metabolic rate made it so their scent was largely undifferentiated from their surroundings. But that had never stopped Bunnymund from tracking them. Jack’s scent was the subtlest the Pooka had ever come across. The only reliable way Bunnymund had found to track the newest guardian by scent was by the smell of ice that clung to his clothes and hair.

That did fuck all to help him find the little wanker at the North bloody Pole where a good quarter of the walls were carved out of a glacier! That left Bunnymund relying heavily on his hearing and sight to catch the blighter. Bunnymund managed to stay within eyeshot of Jack for the next hour. Unfortunately, every time he got close enough to nab him the winter spirit would find a way to shoot up out of his reach, laughing while Bunnymund hollered after him. He should be irritated, furious even! Jack’s childish behavior was getting in the way of his job, but Bunnymund wasn’t angry, quite the opposite in fact. The Pooka was having the time of his life.

Bunnymund would never say it out loud, but he lived for moments like this. The first time it happened was in the Warren. Jack had been helping Bunnymund hand-paint eggs the Easter after Pitch’s attack. Bunnymund had been dead set on hand-painting as many eggs as he could that Easter, to make up for how the last one had gone. They had been painting for hours when, for reasons still unbeknownst to the Pooka, Jack had stood up out of the blue and smeared paint on the older guardian’s nose. Before Bunnymund had had the chance to retaliate, the winter spirit had taken off like a bat out of hell.

When he’d eventually tackled Jack, the larrikin had been laughing so hard Bunnymund was afraid the bloke would suffocate. It was beautiful and irritatingly infectious. It hadn’t taken long for Bunnymund to crack, and soon he hadn’t been in much better state that Jack was. The Pooka couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d laughed like that. It had to of been centuries. It was around that point that Bunnymund had realized that he was still very much on top of the winter spirit. Jack had calmed down and was looking up at him with a small smile, and sparkling blue eyes.

That was the first time Bunnymund had seen Jack smile without the harsh edge of self-assured smugness that accompanied most of the wither spirits expressions. His heart had skipped at the sight. Bunnymund hadn’t stood a chance. That smile and the feeling of the winter spirit sprawled out underneath him had remained at the forefront of Bunnymund’s mind for weeks, and he caught himself watching the winter spirit. Bunnymund watched the way Jack’s toes curled around the crook of his staff when he sat atop it defying all laws of physics. He watched the way Jack’s nose scrunched up in disgust at the mention of fruitcake. Mostly he watched Jack laugh. Like now, Jack’s laughter filled the air as he taunted Bunnymund from the rafters of North’s Globe Room.

It wasn’t until much later, when he was curled up in his nest at the Warren, that Bunnymund realized Jack had distracted him from his check-up. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, nothing like the smell of Bunny's pinning in the morning.


	3. Examination Day

Jack was in his guest bedroom at the Tooth Palace. When he had landed on the central control platform where Tooth monitored her fairies, the Fairy Queen had taken one look at him and waved him on by with a knowing smile. Jack’s not sure how Tooth always knew when he needed to be left alone. Every time he stopped by, he was always greeted with exactly what he needed. Whether that was a big cup of chai and hours of conversation, or just a place to himself, and damn did he need a place to himself right now.

Unlike in previous years, Bunnymund hadn’t given up trying to get Jack to do his mandatory health examination after a couple days. The past few weeks had been filled with near constant attempts to drag him off to wherever the Pooka poked and prodded at his patients. Jack rubbed at his eyes in frustration. The Indian heat didn’t help his sour mood, but the Tooth Palace was the only place where he could be sure not to get caught by the bi-pedal rabbit. If Bunnymund did come looking for him here he could just jump off the balcony and be gone in an instant.

What notes he had managed to take at the study were strewn around him haphazardly on the guest bed. According to the research Jack had done, the last thing Katherine was researching before she died was the magical properties of moonlight and how they could have created Nightlight. She and Manny had been doing extensive experiments on using moonlight to change ordinary animals into spirits. All attempts had ended in failure. They had discovered that moonlight had a low-level sentience, however. According to her books, both Katherine and Manny theorized that this sentience may be responsible for Nightlight’s existence—and possibly the key to creating spirits.

 Based on what little Jack had been able to understand about the experiment, he had the distinct feeling that Manny had continued Katherine’s work after she died. The experiments described in Katherine’s books sounded similar to what Selma had described about his undeadening. But why it would have worked for Jack when all other attempts had failed was beyond him. Several of the books he had read referenced an updated volume on moonlight that Jack hadn’t found before being chased from the workshop. If he could manage to get back into the study and find that book, maybe he’d understand what Manny had done to him, and why he was essentially a walking cadaver.

With any luck, knowing what he was would help him figure out how to fix himself.

The winter spirit sighed. To find the book he’d have to spend an extended amount of time at the study. Given past experience, the likelihood that Jack found the book and got out of the Workshop before Bunnymund could catch him was slim to none.

Ever since Bunnymund had found him in Katherine’s study, Jack hadn’t been able to stay long at the Pole. Anytime he went back for longer than an hour Bunnymund seemed to appear out of nowhere. Jack had a feeling North was in cahoots with the Pooka. The Cossack knew whenever someone entered the workshop, and Jack wouldn’t put it past him to have told Bunnymund any time Jack had tried to go back to the study. It was really starting to put a damper on his progress.

Maybe—maybe it was time he told the other Guardians. This would no doubt be easier with their help, and it’s not like he could keep it a secret forever. It was only a matter of time before Jack managed to get himself into a situation he couldn’t explain.

Jack tried to imagine their reaction. The thought of them recoiling from him in disgust flashed across his mind, and the chill that set into Jack’s bones had nothing to do with his powers. Would they even be able to look at him? The winter spirit thought about the concern for his health Bunnymund had shown over the years, and the way the Pooka was persistently trying get Jack to do his check-up. Would that all go away if he told him?

Pain shot through Jack when he thought of Bunnymund backing away from him with a sneer of disgust on his face, or worse—fear. God, what would the Guardian of life itself think of him once he found out he was just a hollow imitation of a living being?

Water dripped on the notes below him and Jack realized he was crying. He frantically scrubbed at his face before the tears could freeze. Why was he crying? Was he really that afraid of the others finding out? Pitch’s words from years ago echoed in his mind, “ _You’re afraid of what the Guardians will think. You’re afraid of disappointing them. Well let me ease your mind about one thing; They’ll never accept you, not really.”_

Jack buried his head in his hands. Wind whirled around him like a blanket, but Jack was numb to her comfort. He was so tired of being afraid. He was tired of feeling a tight ball of panic in his chest whenever Tooth or North hugged him, praying that they wouldn’t notice the stillness in his chest. He was tired of pretending to sleep, so Sandy wouldn’t worry about him. He was tired of intentionally talking louder around Bunnymund to cover up the silence inside him on the off chance the Pooka’s ears were good enough to hear someone’s heartbeat.

He was tired of lying to them. They didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. Since he’d taken the oath, they’d been like a family to him. When they found out he didn’t have a place of his own, they’d each cleared out a room for his use whenever he wanted. Sitting in the hollow of his throat, under his hoodie, was a talisman that gave him unlimited access to all of the Warren’s tunnels—a gift Bunnymund had given him in private after the fight with Pitch: a statement that he was always welcome in the Pooka’s home. And now, North had given him full run of Katherine’s study.

And what had Jack done for them in return? Given them a few laughs and a heaping pile of dishonesty? A curl of self-loathing unfurled in the winter spirit’s chest. He couldn’t do much for these wonderful people, but the least he could do was be honest. No matter how much he didn’t want to be.

 

\--------------

 

Jack tried not to let his trepidation get the better of him as he rapped three times on the Warren’s access-tunnel door. The stone slid open with a low rumble, and Jack walked through the opening it created. Any other day he would have flown through to the Warren proper in minutes, but the winter spirit felt he needed the extra time to prepare for—for whatever was going to happen.

Jack had thought of all the ways he could tell the other Guardians. At one point, he’d entertained the idea of doing a presentation at the next guardian meeting with the research he’d done. He’d eventually tossed the idea, because he didn’t want to get into any speculations about what he was, or why he was like this. Instead, Jack had decided to let Bunnymund do his check-up. That way it would just be the facts, and whatever came after he would deal with it. _You can do this, Jack._

He was counting on Bunnymund having the worst reaction. With the amount of trust Bunnymund had placed in him, Jack wouldn’t be surprised if the Pooka didn’t even speak to him after this. The ever-present anxiety that had followed Jack since he made this decision spiked, and the winter spirit was glad he didn’t need to breathe. Not for the first time, Jack thought of turning back and pretending he’d never made this decision, but he kept walking forward. If he could handle Bunnymund’s rejection, he could handle anyone else’s.

Despite his slow pace the trek to the central cavern of the Warren seemed to take no time at all. The tunnel ended abruptly, and the green of the Warren enveloped the winter spirit. Jack—Jack wasn’t ready. The winter spirit tensed, ready to run back the way he came, but was caught off-guard by a hand wrapping around his ankle.

Jack jerked in surprise, over-balanced, and fell headfirst onto the mossy ground with a yelp. He whipped around to find Bunnymund crouched at his feet, both hands wrapped around one of his ankles, and sporting a triumphant grin.

Smug was an attractive look on the Pooka, Jack had to admit. Although he would prefer to admit it from a safe distance. Far enough away that Bunnymund wouldn’t see the frost creeping across his cheeks, for example, and preferably not when Jack was winding up to a nervous breakdown.

He scowled at the Pooka and tried to kick at him with his free foot, which only resulted in Bunnymund catching it and pinning it to the ground as well. Now the lagomorph had a hand wrapped around each of Jack’s ankles, and his grin was impossibly more smug.

“Sorry to disappoint ya Jackie, but yer not gettin’ away that easy.”

Jack feigned a scoff and tried to pretend as if he hadn’t been about to run for the hills. He forced a deadpan look onto his face and replied, “Of course, because it wasn’t like I came here of my own free will or anything.” It was obviously Bunnymund called his bluff if the arched eyebrow was anything to go by. Jack glared in reply and the Pooka’s face softened.

“Look Frostbite, lots a people get nervous ‘bout goin’ t’ the doctor. Ain’t nothin’ to be embarrassed about.” Jack barked out a dry laugh. Bunnymund thought he was afraid of doctors?

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it _,_ Peter-Rabbit.” Despite Jack’s use of Bunnymund’s least liked nickname the Pooka was still looking at him with that soft look in his impossibly green eyes, and Jack would give anything to keep it there. He knew if he kept looking at Bunnymund’s face he would never go through with his decision. So he looked away from the Pooka and said, “Let’s just get this over with. Okay, Bunny?”

The walk to the Pooka’s medical facilities was completely silent. Which did nothing for Jack’s nerves. The two guardians were under the main caverns of the Warren in small tunnels that functioned as hallways that connected all the “in doors” areas of the Warren. Bunnymund took a sharp right turn and Jack followed behind.

Despite being on the opposite side of the maze of tunnels that housed the vats of chocolate that the Pooka always had cooking, Jack could still smell them as if they were in the next room. He wondered briefly is this was the last time he’d be surrounded by that smell. Jack tried to memorize it, just in case.

When they made it to one of the Pooka’s many med rooms. Bunnymund directed Jack to take off his shirt and sit on the small cot that sat in the center of the room. He did as he was told. Jack stared resolutely at the ceiling of Bunnymund’s med room, and tried his best not to ice the whole place over. His staff was already a lost cause so he just focused on not letting it spread. 

He marveled at the situation he was in. The winter spirit was sitting on a small cot, sans shirt, in what amounts to an underground hospital waiting to be pronounced dead by an alien rabbit. He’d have laughed if he wasn’t so terrified. Bunnymund was getting a stethoscope ready for him. He was even warming it up! Leave it to the harbinger of spring to think to warm up a stethoscope for a winter spirit.

Jack wondered if this was the last time he’d see the Pooka so concerned with his comfort. If after the next few moments they would be set back to square one, with heated glares and bitter remarks. Jack swallowed around the lump in his throat and seriously reconsidered not making a break for it. He couldn’t go back to Bunnymund hating him, but the Pooka was coming closer and it was too late to run now.

“Alrigh’ Frostbite, we’re goin’ ta start by taking yer vitals and then we’ll move on ta lookin’ over yer old injuries,” the Pooka gave him a pointed look, “Since ya haven’t let me get a look at yer back since I stitched ya up a couple years back.”

“We can skip the vitals, and go straight to that if you want!” Jack responded quickly, then winced. That hadn’t been subtle at all. A look of confusion settled across Bunnymund’s features at Jacks outburst.

“Okay, what’s goin’ on with you Jack? In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never been this skittish ‘bout anything! An’ I’ve seen ya take down a bloody ogre like it was nothing!” the Pooka huffed.

Jack cringed, and Bunnymund deflated, “Look I just want ta help, an’ I can’t do that if ya won’t let me, mate.”

The winter spirit grunted in frustration and roughly scrubbed his hands over his hair. It would be easier if he could just tell the Pooka, but anytime Jack opened his mouth the words stuck in his throat. He needed to tell him, but the cold chill of fear was curled tightly around his voice locking it in his throat. Jack looked up at Bunnymund and saw the same concerned look as before. He couldn’t keep doing this.

Jack lunged forward and quickly hooked the stethoscope around Bunnymund’s head, and into his ears. He then promptly tugged the lagomorph towards the cot by his bandolier and placed the stethoscope to his own chest.

The next few seconds seemed to pass by in slow motion as Jack watched the Pooka’s face. Bunnymund’s brow furrowed over his impossibly green eyes. Every part of the winter spirit wanted to look away from the older Guardian, but his eyes were transfixed on the Pooka as his expression shifted from incomprehension to one of distress.

Jack didn’t have a problem looking away from that. He turned his head away, and prayed that the sting in his eyes wouldn’t turn into tears. He knew this would happen, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. He had to get out of here. Now that Bunnymund knew there was no reason for him to stay.

While he was distracted thinking of a way to escape this hellish scenario, Jack didn’t notice Bunnymund dropping the stethoscope. He didn’t notice Bunnymund was moving at all until the Pooka was flush against his chest with an ear firmly pressed to his sternum. Jack yelped in surprise, and jumped so far off the table he might as well have been flying.

“B-bunny?! W-What are you doing?”

The Pooka pulled back slowly, seemingly unfazed by Jack’s reaction, with a shell-shocked look on his face. His eyes were wide, and his ears had pinned down to the back of his head.

“I thought. I thought maybe the stetho was faulty.” The Pooka’s voice was hollow and quiet as he stared at the winter spirit’s chest. Jack was painfully reminded of the year there was no Easter, and it killed him that he put that look on Bunnymund’s face. Again.

The Pooka’s eye’s drifted to Jack’s, “How long have ya been like this, Jackie?”

A silence stretched between them before Jack responded. “Since the beginning,” he whispered.

Bunnymund’s face shifted through several emotions Jack couldn’t place, before settling on determination. “Alrigh’, tell me everythin’.”

Jack stared at the lagomorph. He searched Bunnymund’s face for any trace of disgust—or fear—but found nothing. The Pooka was looking at him with the same intense focus he would a sick egg plant. For the first time since Jack had decided to do this, a small spark of hope ignited in him.

So, he told Bunnymund everything. He told him about not needing to eat, drink, or sleep. He told him that he only needed to breathe if he wanted to smell something or say something. He told him about coming out of the ice and not knowing enough to realize he wasn’t like anyone else. He told him about the first time he was run through, only to be fine in less than a week. He told him he couldn’t feel things as strongly as he should, like his entire body was numb. He even told him about Selma and the reapers, and about what Manny had done to him. Before he knew it, he was telling Bunnymund about what he found in Katherine’s study, and her all of her experiments.

Jack hadn’t come into the Warren expecting to tell his life story, and he definitely didn’t expect to be detailing all the research he had done with the hope of living again. But the words kept pouring out of him. It was like a dam that had wanted to break for 300 years had finally burst and Jack was powerless to stop it.

Through it all Bunnymund ran the gamut of emotions. Outrage at Manny’s behavior, appreciation for the reapers, horror at the injuries Jack had sustained over the years, and intrigue for Katherine’s experiments. But most importantly, the emotion that remained constant through all of Jack’s rambling was compassion. He cared about what Jack had been through, and that was something that Jack had never dared hope for.

When Jack had finished the Pooka had stood up and placed his hands on his hips decisively. “Sounds ta me like you could use an extra pair of eyes,” Bunnymund stated.  

“You mean… You wanna help me?”

“You wanna live, right?” Jack nodded, “Well then, the way I see it, I hav’ta help. Wot kinda Guardian of Spring would I be if I didn’t help encourage yer sprout a life ta grow?” Bunnymund’s tone was matter of fact and his was face set in a determined smile. Jack had wanted the Guardian’s help, but he never expected it to come so easily. He hadn’t even had to ask!

Overwhelming relief flooded through him, and for the second time that day tears fell freely down Jack’s face, leaving behind frosty tracks that Jack had no intention of wiping away. He wanted to say thank you, but once again found his voice unreliable. Instead of speaking, he threw himself at Bunnymund and buried his head in the Pooka’s chest.

Bunnymund wrapped his arms around the winter spirit tightly and did his best to sooth him. They stayed that way for a long time, with Jack sobbing grossly into Bunnymund’s fur. When Jack had cried himself out the Pooka had sat him down and gave him some tea. They talked until Bunnymund started dozing, and Jack insisted he sleep.

“Ya better be here when I wake up, Frostbite.”

Jack chuckled quietly, “You sure you want me in the Warren unsupervised? I could get up to some serious mischief.”

The older guardian just smiled and replied groggily, “Nah, yer not ‘bout to do anything when yer not gonna get a rise outta me.”

Jack would have been upset at being caught out, but frost was quickly covering his cheeks at the thought of Bunnymund having paid that much attention to his antics. So, he just stuck his tongue out at the giant alien rabbit and walked off in a huff.  

If Jack purposely disorganized the bookshelves in the living room afterward just to make a point, well that was between Jack and the bookshelves. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> In the interest of full disclosure:  
> This is my first fanfic  
> I don't know how long it will end up  
> This will probably end up being a series
> 
> This is going to be an adventure for me, and I'm glad to have you all along for the ride.
> 
> My Tumblr is http://afraea.tumblr.com.  
> Feel free to start a chat.


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